The Silver Fox
by KSausage
Summary: Renartus Vulpin was once a prominent thief in Cyrodiil's Thieves' Guild. A mistake had caused him to move north to Skyrim. Four years later, he's living a simple life running a not-so-legitimate business in the heart of Riften with close ties to the local Thieves' Guild. But age-old legends return, Renartus has to adapt to the situation just like he always has. (Non-DB story)
1. Prologue

**Renartus**

A soft bump on the road awakened me from my sleep. I shifted my head up and saw the pale light of dawn just beyond the eastern mountainside. I looked around and realized that we were still moving and that the caravan had already past the Jerall Mountains.

Thank the gods. I thought we would never cross that mountain pass. The temperatures up there made Bruma look like a winter retreat, and that was something I rarely say about the coldest city in Cyrodiil.

I took a moment to take in to my new surroundings. Everywhere I see were rows of thin birch trees with brown leaves. I caught a glimpse of a river on the far left of the road, the orange-blue sky reflected off its surface. The air here was temperate, still cold but not freezing cold. Somehow, it reminded me of Anvil during the night, where the breeze from the sea would come and cool the land.

I sighed at the brief memory of the city. It wasn't like there was nothing left for me there to do. She was gone because I couldn't see pass my pride. The fever took her. She died without me beside her. My hand instantly moved to the ring that was hung from a thong around my neck. It was my wedding ring, one of the few things that I had actually bought with honest gold. I kept it around as a good luck charm, and to remind me of her.

Going to Skyrim wasn't the best option I had in mind. But like any thief looking to make a quick escape, you have to act fast and grab what you see first.

My brother, Darius Vulpin, had visited me one night at the Count's Arm and offered me a chance to get my life back on track. "The guild in Skyrim has been running into some difficult times lately." He had said to me as we shared a flask of wine. "They're half as capable as they used to be and they're barely making any fortune from their heists. I'm thinking you should go there. They could use someone like you, given how much you have done for us here. Maybe it can also help cope with your grief."

So here I am in Skyrim, the coldest province in all of Tamriel, home to the Nords, giants, mammoths… basically everything that's hairy and smells like piss and ale. Yeah, I really don't have much of a positive view on this place, hence why I said it _wasn't_ the best option I had in mind. But nevertheless, it was better than staying in Anvil and drowning my sorrows late at night.

The caravan I was travelling with belonged to a wealthy Breton merchant by the name of Pierre who had been a 'friend' of Darius. We had left Bruma about four days ago. Three wagons loaded with goods and wares to trade bound for the city of Riften in southeastern Skyrim. We didn't travel alone though. Six riders protected us, two between each wagon, moving at the same lumbering pace. They were sellswords, experienced ones. Best money could buy.

Wanting to know where we were, I turned my head around and asked one of the sellswords, a big tough-looking Nord in steel armor.

"The Rift," He replied, "probably a few more hours before we reach the city." With that, the conversation ended as the Nord spurred his horse forward, probably trying to avoid any more unwanted interactions.

 _Almost there…_

Rather than resuming my sleep, I decided to do something else to pass the time. I reached out for my satchel that was hung on the side of the wagon and pulled out a copy of _Of Crossed Daggers_ bound in old leather. I brought quite a handful of books for the journey, most of them concerning about the province's history, customs and laws. It never hurts to know a thing or two about a foreign land.

Halfway through my reading, the caravan came across a couple of farmhouses. Workers who were tending the crops paused for a moment to watch us pass by. The sounds of farm animals were a nice welcome for me after the long days on the road.

I looked at the seat opposite of mine where a young girl was sleeping soundly. Darius had insisted that I have someone to accompany me during my stay in Skyrim, and who better than his favorite little thief and protégé: Katlynn.

It was not long before we arrived at the gates of Riften, the southern gate to be precise, with the sun set high above the clear blue sky. The lead caravan stopped, the rest including the sellswords followed.

I woke up Katlynn with a gentle shake. She opened her eyes – a mix-matched pair of brown and gold eyes – and yawned. She gave me a look that said, "Are we there yet?"

I nodded. "C'mon, let's go find this guild of theirs."

We grabbed our belongings – a satchel and two knapsacks containing food, spare clothes and other basic necessities– and jumped out of the wagon.

When we approached the lead caravan, Pierre was talking to a female Bosmer, which I believe is the city's customs officer. She was surrounded by two guards in mail and purple cloth; lightly-armored, very different than the steel-plated guards back home. Might need to see how well they can do in a chase sometime soon.

Pierre and I exchanged glances, as we passed by. I made a two-finger salute, thanking him for the ride. From here on now, it was just me, Katlynn and whatever the Thieves' Guild of Riften has to offer us.


	2. Chapter 1

**Renartus**

 ** _Four years later…_**

 _18th Last Seed 4E 201_

Riften was a city built near the shores of Lake Honrich and lies close to the borders of Skyrim and Morrowind. It was known for two things: mead and fish. But the city was also known for a rather… regular activity.

The man was running away. He was clad in leather armor and his face covered by a hood. But that did not hide the sheer terror he had as the guards chased after him with swords raised and bows readied.

"Come back here, thief!" A few of them shouted.

The whole thing was taking place in the Grand Plaza, right in the middle of the hustle and bustle that is the marketplace. Merchants and bystanders alike watched as the thief tried to flee from half a dozen purple-cloth guards who were eager to haul him into prison.

I was standing at the doorway of the Bee and Barb when the thief ran pass me. In that brief window of time, I glared at him. It was a glare of many meanings. Some of them include, ' _Brynjolf ain't going to be happy with this if you make it out alive,_ ' and ' _You idiot. You just had to break into the blacksmith's house in broad daylight._ '

One of the guards soon let loose an arrow at the thief. It struck his left calf, causing him to fall over, face first, into the paved stone floor. Blood was bleeding out from his injured leg as the guards closed in on him.

A few words were exchanged between the thief and the guards. Couldn't make out most of it, but my guess is either prison or the chopping block. I saw the thief spat at the guards. Bad mistake. Next thing he knew, a sword found itself into his belly, killing him.

I sighed. _Down goes another one._

Soon the plaza was back to its usual self. Merchants resumed selling their wares and the bystanders continued on with their daily duties. No one seemed to bat an eye about the dead thief now laid bloodied on the floor. It's if it had been a regular thing here in Riften. The scary thing is… _it was_.

Four years during my stay in Skyrim and I've never seen such a high death toll for thieves before. An average of five thieves died in a year, _in this city alone_! Sometimes I wonder if it was a mistake to even go to this god forsaken province.

The door beside me opened and out came Katlynn, eating a honey nut treat with one hand. She was dressed in her day-to-day attire: a faded black coat jacket with a tunic underneath, dark linen pants, gloves and pleated shoes. They were light, comfortable and more importantly, inconspicuous to the guards. Most of them would probably mistake her for a mage than a thief.

"You missed most of the action, Kat." I said to her. "So, got what you need?"

The young woman nodded. She presented her other hand and produced a sizable bag of gold. I kinda felt sorry for the poor sod that had left that thing back inside his room, thinking that it's safe from all the thieves outside the inn.

"You know, I think you should really take a break from thieving one day."

Katlynn shoved the bag of gold into her coat's pocket and made a few gestures with her hand – her standard form of communication. " _Why should I?_ "

"Well first of all, I don't want you to become like _that_ guy." I pointed at the dead thief who was now being dragged towards the canal by two guards.

" _Him? He's an amateur_." The smug look she gave me boast of her usual self-confidence.

"So were you when Darius picked you up from the streets." I shot back.

Katlynn frowned, remembering the Imperial who had been like a father to her while she, to an extent, had been close like a niece to me. My brother found her living in an alleyway in the Imperial City for gods know how long. He took her in and raised her like family, teaching her the _true_ ways of the guild and even showing her the footsteps. Now she's here with me, – this nineteen-year old silent thief with a grin like a Mania cat – and he's hundreds of miles south in Cyrodiil doing what he does best.

" _I miss Darius,_ " was the only reply she could give.

Now I feel sorry for bringing that up. "C'mon, let's get back to the store."

Riften was like a two-story building. You've got the first floor, and the ground floor. The surface of the city was the first floor, where most of the activity takes place and where most of the city's inhabitants live. Then you have the canal, this long strip of waterway that serves as the ground floor.

We descended down a flight of stairs into the canal. Boardwalks lined the edges. They creak with every step. The walls had a door between every few yards. They were houses for the city's 'lesser' folks. As we neared my store, we saw the guards dumping the dead thief's body from the footbridge above. The body plunged into the canal waters in a loud _splash_ before popping back up to the surface. The water around him slowly turned red as he floated down the canal.

Seeing a dead thief was always an unpleasant sight. It was like having butterflies in your stomach. It makes you nervous, makes you question if the next body floating down the canal would be you or someone you know. I didn't know the guy personally, but I bet he was probably another one of Brynjolf's lackeys. Another novice swooned over by the Nord's promise of gold and fortune. I have to admit, either his tongue is coated with honey, or people these days are just too easy to be persuaded.

Ignoring the floating corpse, we walked a few feet further until we reached one side of the canal where the store was located at. It was marked with a sign sticking out from one of the rows of wooden beams that support the walkway above us. The sign showed the image of western Cyrodiil, also known as Colovia. Above it were a few words which said, _Little Colovia._

We entered the store through the front – and only – door. A small bell rang, announcing our presence. From his post at the counter, Varik greeted us and asked us how our day at the market was.

"Oh you know the usual stuff; a chase between the guards, a thief running away, and a dead body in the canal." I replied sarcastically. "So anything new while I was gone?"

"One of Durgesh's boys just came in here. He's asking for the rest of the payment."

I groaned in frustration. _Seriously? This early?_ "Is he still here?" I asked.

"I told him to wait in your study." Varik replied.

I went inside my study. There sitting at a bench was Durgesh's boy, glaring at me like I was armed or something. He was a familiar face. I think his name was Ornir or something. He came in here two months ago to collect my monthly payment, which I handed over him without any qualms. Now he's back, and this time he doesn't look happy to see me.

The Nord tried to get up, but I gestured at him to stay seated and went to my own seat behind the desk. "So what can I do for you?" I asked in a relaxed tone. First thing when dealing with money-lenders is never show them that you're afraid.

"Durgesh wants the rest of the money." He said, straight to the point. Ornir was a stocky man – built like a keg – with coarse blonde hair that looked more like straw than gold. He had a scar on the left side of his lip. That's how I knew that the guy was Ornir.

"Now?" I acted surprised. "What happened to the monthly payment?"

"Not my place to say. Durgesh just wants the rest of the fifty thousand you loaned from him."

"Care to remind how much I still owe him?"

"Twelve thousand."

The numbers didn't surprise me. I could've settled it by the end of the year. My only question is: why does Durgesh want the rest of the debt paid now? Damn Orc must be getting greedy. I could ask his lackey why, but I doubt even he knows what his boss is up to. He just does what he's told.

I tapped my fingers on my desk, thinking what to do next. All the while, Ornir was still glaring daggers at me. "Alright, here's an idea." I said to him. I reached for my desk drawer and pulled out a hefty bag of gold and toss it on the desk. "There's two thousand septims inside this bag. Take it to Durgesh and tell him I'll pay the rest by the end of Frostfall."

"Durgesh wants all—"

"That's _two months'_ worth of the usual." I interrupted him with a calm yet firm voice. "I'm sure that's enough to satisfy your boss until I get the remaining ten thousand."

Reluctantly, Ornir stood up and took the bag of gold. "Ten thousand by the end of Frostfall?"

I nodded. "By the end of Frostfall, you have my word."

"Words don't pay debts, Imperial." He brusquely said before leaving my study and headed for the front door.

 _Words don't pay debts, but at least they can stall them._

After hearing the doorbell ring at his departure, I let out a sigh. Ten thousand septims in two months is quite a gamble I just took. But then again, life is without any risk. I look down at the ring hung around my neck and gave it a good stroke with my finger. For luck.

Katlynn then entered with a query look. " _So what happened between you and that big ol' brute?_ " She asked using her hand signs.

"Looks like we'll be busy for a few weeks, Kat." I said to her. "C'mon, let's go down to the Flagon."


	3. Chapter 2

**Renartus**

Setting up a store in the canal had its advantages. Besides the easy access to the waterway, it also allowed me access into the Ratway, a network of sewer tunnels stretching all across Riften. Remember how I said that Riften is like a two-story building? Well the Ratway is the basement. And like any other basement, it's dark, grimy, and filled with rodents.

The entrance to the sewers was in a form of a latch hidden behind a wardrobe in my study. From there, we had to climb down several feet into a small tunnel so narrow that we had to move in single file.

I took the lead with Katlynn behind me. We stopped at an intersection. A single torch burning slowly on the wall showed three other similar-looking tunnels, all of them showed only pitch black darkness at the end. I went towards the left tunnel and moved my hand against the cold wet stone archway. I was looking for a symbol, an etching of a diamond with a circle in the middle. My fingers ran across a groove. I asked Katlynn to cast a candlelight spell – a floating ball of aetherial light – and there it was. A shadowmark.

We continued our way down the left tunnel. With the light from Katlynn's spell, we could see what was in front of us. It was said that those who do not find their way out of the Ratway shall be its permanent residents. But I was no stranger to sewers. I had grown accustomed to using the Imperial City's sewers during my days of thievery. The Ratway was no different than that. Every sewer was the same to me.

After a few more minutes of walking and turning, we soon arrived at the Ragged Flagon, a shoddy-looking tavern in the middle of the Ratway. _Why_ they build a tavern inside a sewer is beyond me, but the Flagon secretly serves as a lookout point for the Thieves' Guild, and the only place they could get a drink without getting noticed by the guards.

As we entered the tavern, I was met with Dirge, the bouncer and one of the lookouts for the guild. He was a big man with blonde hair and thick mutton chops. The reason why he calls himself Dirge was because he's the last thing you'll hear before they put you into the ground. I recalled someone laughing at the name and well…. let's just say the guy ended up sleeping with the fishes. Literally.

"Dirge, buddy! How's it going? Thrown anyone out lately?" I greeted happily.

The blonde Imperial gave me a stink eye look. "As a matter of fact, I was planning on throwing _someone_ out today if they won't keep their mouth shut."

I raised my hands in a defensive manner. "Okay okay, no need get all grouchy on me. Is Brynjolf here?"

"He's with Delvin. Go ahead," He moved aside to let us through. "Just don't cause any—"

"Let me guess, trouble?" I grinned. "I know the drill, Dirge. You told me this like a hundred times already. Besides, have I ever caused any trouble here?"

I left the bouncer in his irritated state and found Brynjolf and Delvin sitting at a table. They were having their afternoon lunch: beef stew served with two loaves of bread and baked potatoes and a flask of Alto wine.

"Afternoon gents," I announced myself.

"Well, if ain't Renartus Vulpin and his little silent pet." Delvin was the first to answer, receiving a scowl from Katlynn for his remark. Delvin Mallory was one of the oldest members of the guild, old enough to remember what it was like during its golden age. His head was shaven, but there were still whisks of hair on his face that formed a beard. "Came down here to pay the guild a visit eh?"

"More or less." I pulled up a seat and poured myself a glass of Alto wine – I would've preferred Surilie – before continuing, "You should've been to the market today. There was a chase… with guards shouting and people watching."

"I'm guessin' that this chase ended up with a dead thief floatin' in the canal."

I shrugged. "Well I can hardly call the guy a thief. He was practically seen lockpicking into the Scorched Hammer by almost a dozen people. And I could even spot him from the Bee and Barb. I figured he was one of your boys, Brynjolf."

"The lad had promise. I guess I was wrong." The Nord simply said as he dipped a chunk of bread into his stew and ate it. Those were the same words he had said about the previous three recruits, and they all ended up dead or rotting in the dungeons.

I took a sip from my wine and reminded myself why I came down here in the first place. "Dead thief and friendly visits aside, I've got business to discuss."

Delvin raised an eyebrow. "Business, eh? Now that's a word I like to hear. What kind of business are we talkin' about here?"

I smiled. "The kind that gets both of us rich of course." _And me out of my debt._ I did not dare to discuss my current situation. They did not know that I had loaned money from someone outside the guild and I would prefer to keep it that way. "I have a buyer who's looking for some gemstones, specifically rubies. He's willing to pay a hefty amount of gold and I can cut you on a good slice of the deal." Though the offer was a few days old, I just hope the buyer was still available. If not, I could sell them to Madesi, granted if he doesn't start asking questions about its authenticity.

"Sounds simple enough. I'll keep my eyes open if one of the boys comes across those chunks o' brandy."

Suddenly, we heard noises from outside the Flagon. I turned my head back and saw two men in leather armor. One was a Nord while the other was a Breton. They seemed to be talking about something, but I couldn't make out what they were saying. It was only until after they entered the Flagon could I get a few bits of their conversation.

"…bugger if I know what happened." said the Breton. "We're lucky that we weren't there when it happened."

"Cynric, Thrynn, you're back." Brynjolf greeted. "I hope you lads found what we were looking for in Helgen."

The two thieves exchanged worried looks before Thrynn shrugged at his companion and spoke. "Funny you should mention that…" He opened a small pouch on his bandolier and presented to us a partially burned-up piece of paper. The bottom left portion was all but gone and the writings were covered in ash stains.

I was perplexed at what I saw, but Brynjolf was more frustrated than confused. "Explain to me how you two managed to almost burn the cargo manifest that you were supposed to steal." He asked, rubbing his temples to try and relieve himself of the internal headache he was getting.

"We didn't," The Nord thief in dark grey leather armor replied. "It was like that the moment we arrived," Thrynn paused for a moment, his face darkened. "…along with the rest of the town."

The Flagon went silent. I nearly spilled my wine when I realized what he was implying. I looked at the two thieves and said, "I'm sorry, but are you trying say that Helgen was burned to the ground?"

"It _was_ burned to the ground." Cynric stood firm with his partner's statement.

"That's impossible," Delvin snorted in disbelief. "Helgen is a fortified town under Imperial occupation. Ten feet high stone walls, a dozen guards patrollin' its perimeters day-and-night, and even a keep that could garrison at least a hundred men. You're tellin' me a town like that is now all ashes and rubble?"

"I would be drunk if I tell you otherwise."

"You don't look drunk." I added.

"My point exactly."

I looked at Brynjolf to see his input of things. He had been quiet during the whole banter, having spent the time trying to read the partially burned cargo manifest. As far as he's concerned, he's going to have a hard time explaining this to Mercer Frey. "Mercer's not going to like this," He said. "But on the bright side, at least we know when the caravan might arrive. You two get some rest. We'll sort out the plan tomorrow. Oh, and one more thing, lads. Unless the inns and taverns start spreading the same story as yours, keep this whole thing between us and Mercer, okay?"

Cynric and Thrynn both agreed and left to retreat back into the cistern.

"Helgen… destroyed." I started once they were gone, still in disbelief. "You guys aren't seriously buying into this are you?"

Brynjolf looked at me with his answer written plain on his face. "I've known Cynric for a long time, Renartus. He and I joined the guild back when Gallus was still guildmaster. And I can vouch whatever he's saying is true, even if it doesn't make sense sometimes."

There was no arguing there. I've been here for four years and I still had trouble figuring out the old breeds from the new. But Cynric was definitely one of the former. He had been a jailbreaker before his last job ended up with him serving three years in High Rock.

"Still, I mean you heard what Delvin said; the place is practically a fortress. How could a place like that just simply be burned to the ground in just a day?"

Brynjolf just shrugged. "I don't know, lad. But best we focus more on our coins than a burned down town. But if it makes you feel any better, I'm also curious about it too."


	4. Chapter 3

**_Elise_**

 _15_ _th_ _Last Seed 4E 201_

The distant faint light burning low on the grey-blue horizon signaled the end of our journey. After two and a half weeks at sea, the merchant galley _Primrose_ was finally approaching its destination: Solitude, the capital city of Skyrim.

I felt a sense of joy and happiness as I stood on the deck, leaning against the lacquered wooden railing. The light burned brighter and floated higher as the ship closed in, parting the sea mist until the shadow of a large arc started forming several miles in front of us. Solitude is built on top of a natural arch facing the Sea of Ghost. I've only been there once or twice during one of my father's business trips. Its buildings were more Imperial than Nordic and was quite beautiful to view at sea during sunrise. Fortunately, I would have the chance to see it as the sun was just peering up on the horizon, behind the mist and clouds.

Behind me, Uncle Dorian's crewmen were scrambling in and around the ship, fastening the ropes, climbing up the three tall masts and moving along the riggings. Karstan the Sea Bard sang a sea shanty as he worked the ropes, to raise the men's spirits. It soon grew louder as the others joined their voices.

 _Weigh-hay and up she rises_

 _Weigh-hay and up she rises_

 _Weigh-hay and up she rises_

 _Early in the morning!_

They were singing ' _Drunken Sailor_ '. Quite a bawdy song if I saw so myself, but there was a certain appeal to it. I was secretly humming to the tunes of the chorus, bobbing my head rhythmically from side-to-side, following on with the lyrics.

"I heard women have a different taste in music, though I never knew you liked sea shanties." said Uncle Dorian, chuckling.

"U-Uncle," I was startled to see him behind me. Was he there all the time? "I thought you were in your cabin."

"And miss the sunrise? No, I don't think so." Uncle Dorian was my father's younger brother and a merchant-captain working with the East Empire Company. A faded green cloak draped over his shoulders, stained by salt. Underneath it, he wore a brown doublet and cream breeches. His auburn red hair and green eyes had marked him as a Desrosiers.

When I heard that the College was accepting new students, I was as giddy as a child. It was one of the last remaining schools of magic left standing in the Fourth Era, and was more open-minded than the Synod or the College of Whispers. It was the perfect place for me to hone my skills in magic, though Father would not agree.

For him, mercantile and maritime were the traditions that House Desrosiers – that's _Deh-rose-e-aye_ – pursue, not magic. "Skyrim is a cold and dangerous place filled with barbarians and savages." He told me when I revealed my decision to him during dinner. "No fit for a young lady like you. It is better for you to stay here and learn from the Castle's court mage. Might I remind you that we still need to find a proper suitor for you?"

His last words had caused me to groan, which was quite unlady-like if you ask me. I was four-and-twenty, the eldest daughter and second born child of the Desrosiers family. It was at that time Father would start babbling on about marriage. Of course, I didn't want that. I didn't want to spend the rest of my life married to some wealthy merchant or nobleman, raising his children and die of old age in a large mansion. Who does he think I am? Some kind of bargaining chip?

No!

I wanted to become a mage and see the world outside of High Rock. Oblivion be damned if I was going to let Father's words stop me. So I left home – after saying my farewells to Mother and the others – and boarded Uncle Dorian's _Primrose_ which was bound for Solitude.

By the time the ship approached the Gulf of Solitude, the sun had risen. The stones of the gulf's large natural arch turned pink-grey. The sky was a pale mixture of orange and purple. The city's tall towers rose up like long shadow fingers. Chimneys were puffing out white smoke. If you listened very closely – and ignore the sailors' singing – you could hear the faint sound of the morning bustle coming from inside the walls.

 _So beautiful…_ I thought to myself, taking in the scenery that made the two and a half week long journey alone well worth it.

Suddenly, the ship caught sight of two war galleys guarding the mouth of the gulf. One was named _Wyvern_ while the other was _Windpiercer_. Their sails were a red dragon shaped like an anchor over a white canvas: the colors of the Imperial Navy.

While their presence was a common sight in the waters of High Rock and Hammerfell, seeing two of their ships had made me recall the civil war that was occurring across the province. It was caused by a group of disgruntled Nords led by a lord or noble by the name of Ulfric Stormcloak who opposed the banning of Talos made by the White-Gold Concordat. I didn't pay much attention about it. Most of us nobilities in High Rock never did.

A boat had been sent from the _Wyvern_ to inspect our ship. It was a mandatory procedure for all merchant ships, and with the war going on…. well it never hurts for them to be careful. An officer had climbed onto our ship along with two bodyguards. All three were Imperial legionnaires. The officer was clad in steel while his bodyguards in studded leather.

Uncle Dorian had brought the officer and his bodyguards into his cabin to talk. After a few minutes, they came out and shook hands. Uncle gave the crew a nod. We were finally allowed to enter the city's harbor.

The harbor was built at the base of the city's main gate. It had enough docks for four galleys, though only two was currently occupied. On the left were the swamps of… Halmarch? Jaalmarch? – the Hold's name is difficult to pronounce, but I know it ends with ' _march_ '. The docks were teeming with sailors and workers, some unloading their cargo while others just lay about on the deck of their ships.

 _Primrose_ had drop anchor near a warehouse which I believe belonged to the East Empire Company – the big white ship painted on the wooden sign in front of the building was an obvious indication. I disembarked off the ship with my uncle, carrying my knapsack and my mage's staff. A blue crystal crowned the top of the ornate piece of wood. It was a gift from Velem R'en, my mentor and court mage of Castle Daggerfall. He had been the one who encouraged me to enroll in the College of Winterhold.

I took a breath of fresh air and breathe out. "It's _so good_ to be back on solid ground."

"Aye," Uncle Dorian agreed. "it's good to stretch these sea legs again." Then something, or rather _someone_ , caught his eye. "Vittoria Vici, how nice of you to come out and welcome us."

My eyes widened. Now this was a welcoming I wasn't expecting. Vittoria Vici was the first cousin to Emperor Titus Mede II. She looked much younger than the Emperor, considering that His Imperial Majesty was around fifty years of age.

"Dorian Desrosiers," She said, managing to pronounce our family name correctly. "It's glad to see you and your ship arrived safely to Solitude. I trust the voyage went well?"

"We had a few storms and rough seas, but with Kynareth's protection we were able to make it through."

"I see." Vittoria Vici's eyes soon turned towards me. "And who's this you've brought along?"

"This is Lord Emeric's daughter, Elise Desrosiers."

I bowed my head. "It's an honor to meet you, my lady."

"My lady?" The Imperial covered her giggles with her hand. "Oh, you're too courteous. A simple 'ma'am' would do just fine. How fares Lord Emeric?"

"My lord father is doing well, ma'am." I lied, smiling sweetly. In truth, he's probably still angry at me leaving, but he'll get over it soon. "I intend on enrolling to the College of Winterhold, to become a mage."

"Oh, that sounds wonderful." The tone in her voice didn't seem to suggest so. "I'm sure they will be honored to have you there. But you two must be tired after all those days at sea. How about you head to the Winking Skeever to get some hot meal?"

"A hot meal would be good." said Uncle Dorian. "What say we spend the day in Solitude before you head to Winterhold, Elise?"

" _And delay my attendance by another few days?_ " was what I wanted to say. But instead I reluctantly agreed to my uncle's decision. On the bright side, at least I could take a stroll around Solitude. Maybe even buy some supplies too.

* * *

On the next day, after spending the night at the Winking Skeever, I was off to Winterhold. I had donned my green-and-black mage robes and my bags were already loaded onto the carriage. I was set and ready. Even the weather today seemed to fit my mood.

Uncle had hired a few sellswords to act as my escorts. Travelling to Winterhold would have me cross the borders of the Pale and Hjaalmarch (turns out its pronounced ' _Ya-al-march_ ', with a silent ' _H_ '). That meant crossing from the Imperial-controlled territories and into to the rebels'.

Should I be afraid? Maybe…

Was it worth the risk? Of course it is!

I gave Uncle Dorian a big goodbye hug. He had been more of a help than Father could've been, and it was time to part ways with him.

"Don't forget to write letters to me and the family back home." He said.

"I will, Uncle."

"Oh, and one more thing," He moved closer to my ear and whispered, "Try not go courting while you're there, okay?"

"Uncle!" I flustered. A small blush crept up my cheeks.

He only laughed. "I was just joking, Elise."

 **Author's Notes:**

 **Sorry for the late update, been trying to work this chapter for nearly a week now. It's quite challenging to write a new character with a different mindset. Also Chapter 4 is 70% complete, so expect a double chapter this week.**


	5. Chapter 4

**_Katlynn_**

At night, Riften's shopkeepers would be in their homes and their wares would be left inside their locked stalls. It was at that time I would start my late-night shopping spree around the Grand Plaza. Sadly, I could only dream of that happening tonight as I saw the city slowly disappearing behind me.

Well, there goes my chance of stealing Grelka's new set of enchanted steel daggers. They were worth quite a few hundred septims. I just hope no amateur thief would get their grubby hands on them before I return.

We had left through the city's southern gate and were now travelling west, passing through farms and small houses. The forest was alive with torchbugs and crickets. Lake Honrich was sparkling under the moonlight as Masser and Secunda hung above the night sky, partially hidden behind the clouds.

Our horses had been fitted with empty sacks, one on each side. Why you might ask? Well because some Imperial had this crazy idea of going into a supposedly destroyed town and loot the whole place of any valuables.

Gods… sometimes I hate Renartus. How did I even drag myself into this plan?

* * *

 **Several hours ago…**

We were back in _Little Colovia_ when decided to reveal his well-concocted idea to me.

I blinked my eyes and was – metaphorically and literally – speechless at what I just heard.

"C'mon, it's a good plan." Renartus said with a confident smile. "If Cynric and Thrynn are right, then Helgen would be abandoned and ripe for plucking."

I sighed and made a few hand signs. " _Did you forget about the_ 'burned to the ground' _part?_ "

"No," He openly admitted. "But you forgot that Helgen is near the borders of Cyrodiil, which means all trade that comes from Bruma goes there, which means there's bound to be something of value. Wood and straw may burn, but not silver and gold." He hummed the last part like it was a tune.

I slapped my forehead. Divines help me. This guy is dense as stone!

" _You're crazy!_ " I finished up by throwing my arms high up in the air.

"You hurt me, Kat." He placed a hand over his heart and feigned heartache.

" _Is this about the debt with the Orc?_ " I asked. " _You know you could ask the Guild for—_ "

"I don't _need_ the Guild's help." Renartus exclaimed. "They're already pre-occupied with their own problems. I don't want to toss another one in."

I sighed. There he goes again, using the same excuse. He's been reluctant to ask for the Guild's help ever since we knew about the Guild's condition. So when it came to setting up shop in Riften, he had resorted to loan money from Durgesh instead of the Guild.

Convincing Mercer and the others that he had start a business all on his own was the easiest part. All he had to do was make up a story about some surplus merchandise he still had from Cyrodiil and they believed him.

"Look," He continued. "I know it's not the most bountiful of jobs I have for us. But at least we'll get away clean."

Clean was good… but no. I was still unconvinced. I maybe nineteen, but I can still tell if a job is worth the trouble or not. You don't go into a Nordic ruin unless you know the risk and the reward. And honestly this job sounds like it was more like _no risk and no reward_.

I shook my head, still inclined with my original answer.

"I'll treat you some salmon if you come~" He said in a sing-song tone.

* * *

Oh, right… _that's_ how I got into this mess. Curse me and my fixation with salmon.

I couldn't help it. When he mentions salmon, my mouth starts to drool. All I could think of back then was the crisp orange texture of cooked salmon, the taste of the soft tender meat, and the smell of herbs and lemon juice. Gods, just thinking about it makes me hungry.

Anyways, where was I? Oh yes, Helgen.

We had left Riften in the middle of the night. The ride to Helgen would normally take half a day on horseback. Renartus suggested that we departed early so we could be the first ones there. Abandoned towns tend to attract bandits and highwaymen or vultures as we liked to call them. If we were quick, we won't have to deal them.

The roads in the Rift were quiet this time of night, strange given the civil war raging on across the land. Most of the battles were border skirmishes, and they usually end up leaving a trail of dead bodies, which I sometimes loot if I stumble across one. What? You think I would leave all that loot for the vultures?

We decided to take a short rest at Ivarstead before traversing the mountain pass. The town was located at the base of the Throat of the World, the highest mountain in all of Tamriel, and near Lake Geir. There was a lumber mill, an inn, and a small farm. If you could ignore the barrow, then I would say it was a nice enough town. Renartus and I used to come here from time to time to deliver some lumber for Temba Wide-Arms. Don't ask how we even got the lumber, okay.

We tied our horses near the entrance, and entered the Vilemyr Inn. The first thing I felt upon entering was the warmth coming from the fire pit. It was good to shrug off some of the cold from the night. The sounds of a lute playing filled the air. Besides us, there was the innkeeper, a bard and three more patrons.

We sat ourselves on a bench and the innkeeper came to take our orders. "Welcome to the Vilemyr Inn." He greeted, "Name's Wilhelm. What can I get for you two? Food? Drinks?"

"I'll have some venison and a bottle of Surilie Brothers'." Renartus asked.

"We don't have any Surilie Brothers'."

"What about Tamika's?"

The innkeeper shook his head. "Nope. We don't have any of those expensive types."

Renartus sighed. "I'll just have the Alto then." He then gestured his hand towards me. "As for my friend here, she would like some salmon, grilled and basted with lemon sauce and a tankard of ale."

 _Well at least he kept his word, for a sly bastard._

Once the innkeeper was gone, Renartus gave me a disgruntled look. "Can you believe this place doesn't have any Surilie's or Tamika's?"

" _Not every inn is The Count's Arm, Renartus._ " was what I wanted to say _if_ I had a voice. But being the mute girl I am, I could only roll my eyes in reply.

The man had a certain taste when it comes to the finer things in life; there was no doubt about that. Give him cheap wine instead of those from the vineyards of Skingrad and he'll probably just order tap water. He's really picky when it comes to wine. I think the proper term he likes to be called is a _connoisseur of wine_. Whatever the hell that means.

The drinks came before our meal. Renartus poured himself a glass of the Alto wine and took a small sip. "Tastes like piss water," He said, dreading at the taste of it.

 _Maybe it really_ is _piss water._ I thought amusingly, sipping at my own drink. Why can't he just drink ale like any normal person would?

Soon my stomach was growling for the salmon. As if my thoughts had sent a telepathic message, Wilhelm returned with our meals. I stared in awe with my jaw dropped at the grilled fish being laid on the table.

"You're going to catch a fly if you don't close your mouth, Kat." Renartus chided, cutting thin slices of his cooked venison. The meat inside was pinkish-red.

Usually I would shot him a look at his comments, but I let it slide just this once because of the tasty salmon lying in front of me.

"So what brings you two here to Ivarstead?" The innkeeper asked, leaning against a wooden beam as we ate our meals. "Quite a bit late to do a pilgrimage to High Hrothgar at this time of day."

Does he think that we look like pilgrims?

"We're just passing through," Renartus answered instead. "Thought we might make a quick stop here before continuing our journey to Whiterun." He lied. He was good at lying, to the point where he could hide his lie in plain sight. "We're planning on taking a detour at Helgen to save time."

Wilhelm's face turned solemn. "Best you take the road north of here and cross from Eastmarch. Helgen's gone, destroyed by a dragon."

I nearly choked on my food when I heard his words. Did he just say _dragon_?

"A dragon?" Renartus acted unsurprised, though his silver eyes sparked interest on the subject. Clearly this wasn't part of the story Cynric and Thrynn had told back at the Flagon. "And you saw this dragon?"

"Yes… well, no." The innkeeper confessed. "But a few Stormcloaks had passed by here in the evening. They said a black dragon had destroyed Helgen."

"Stormcloaks? I thought Helgen was occupied by the Imperial Legion?"

"Aye. They said they were captured and brought there to be executed. One of the prisoners was none other than Ulfric Stormcloak."

Ulfric Stormcloak. He was the guy who started the whole Stormcloak rebellion. Killed his own king in cold blood, or through honorable combat depending on whose side of the story you believe in. If the Imperials had captured him then the war was sure to be over. Well… ' _would_ be over' seemed to be the correct word now.

Renartus washed down the venison with wine. He was being oddly calm at hearing this story. No surprise or fear written in his eyes. It was like he was having supper while listening to the day's end report. "We'll be more careful on the road then," He said. "Thank you for the warning."

I don't like this.

* * *

We headed outside after we had finished our meal. I had a lot of things in my mind right now. Dragons, Stormcloaks, the Imperial Legion, Executions. That's a lot for a young girl like me to take in.

Normally I couldn't care less about tavern tales. They were just simple excuses for someone to get a free tankard of mead or to entertain a crowd with exaggerated tales of their adventures (they were amusing to hear though, I'll give them that). But there was something different about this one. Not every day you hear tales about dragons. The only dragon I've ever saw was the statue of Akatosh in the Temple of the One, but that was just made out of stone.

I shudder to think what happen if that dragon turns out to be real. What if it still at Helgen? Is the whole trip really worth it? I don't want to be dragon chow!

I think I should tell Renartus to call this off while we're still—

"Alright, let's continue onwards, Kat. We have to reach Helgen before dawn."

 _Wait, what!?_ I dropped my jaw in disbelief. We're still going to Helgen? I'm not sure if his brain had processed what was told to us, but Helgen is destroyed. _By a dragon!_ And he's still going through with this plan?

 _Has he lost his wits!?_

I saw him casually walking toward our horses with not a care for the world.

Yup, he has seriously lost his wits.

I stomped my feet on the ground to get his attention. He turned his head around and looked at me with a raised eyebrow. I folded my arms, giving him a stern look before pointing a finger up in the sky. His response was a chuckle.

"You seriously think that there's a dragon near Helgen?" Renartus asked before erupting into laughter. "Dragons have been dead for hundreds of years, Kat. The last reported sighting of a dragon was during the Tiber Wars at the Battle of Hunding Bay. And no, I don't count the avatar of Akatosh near the end of the Oblivion Crisis, so don't bring that up."

I hate it when he starts talking about history. He has like an entire encyclopedia crammed inside that head of his.

"Maybe a dragon did attack Helgen, or maybe it's just an all-out attack by the Stormcloaks to rescue their leader, who knows." He shrugged. "Point is you don't believe in rumors unless there is evidence to back it up. Now c'mon, we're wasting daylight."

Reluctantly, I followed. I swear if we don't find anything valuable on this trip, I'm going to beat him bloody if the dragon doesn't eat him first.

 **Author's Note:**

 **Finally I managed to publish this chapter. Just writing it felt like trying to poop out a Malacath-sized chapter (bonus if you get the lore reference).**

 **Just in case you guys are curious, the Battle of Hunding Bay (as known as the Battle of Stros M'kai) was fought between the Imperials and the Crowns in Hammerfell near the end of the Tiber Wars (Tiber Septim's conquest of Tamriel in the late Second Era).**

 **You can learn more about it at UESP.**

 **Anyways, time to continue pooping out chapters..**.


	6. Chapter 5

**_Renartus_**

At least there was something me and Kat would agree on, and that was Helgen is destroyed. _Completely destroyed._

It felt like we were entering the aftermath of a great battle. Everywhere we looked there was only death and destruction. Buildings had been burned down, leaving behind only charred wood and their stone foundations. Large pieces of debris dotted the roads leading deeper into town. At the top of the keep's tower, the tattered black-and-red flag of the Imperial Legion flapped against the cold air.

There was a rather grim irony to the sight of that flag. The dragon was supposed to be the symbol of the Empire. Instead it became this town's destruction.

Katlynn took one look at her surrounding and scowled at me. _Happy now?_ Her face said with her angry gold-and-brown eyes. _Because there's nothing here!_

As we moved deeper into town, there was a sharp smell in the air. We stumbled upon a litter of burned corpses. My nose crinkled at the smell while Katlynn held her breath as her anger turned to shock. Their bodies were charred and black as coal until it was almost impossible to identify who they were. Some wore armor, or what was left of them. The metal and leather had been partially melted and merged with their flesh.

That seemed impossible as it required intense heat to melt steel. Even fire spells couldn't produce that amount of heat except for the highest of levels.

 _…destroyed by a dragon._ I quickly dismissed the thought. No. No. I can't come into that conclusion. Dragons have been dead for centuries. The Dragonguard and their successors have hunted them down to extinction.

We dismounted our horse near the town's keep. It was a good place to start. I strapped my longsword onto my belt and slung my crossbow across my back before entering the keep through the heavy wooden door.

Not even a minute inside the keep and there are already dead bodies lying about. The stench was already strong in here. Three Stormcloaks, their weapons were taken but not their personal belongings. Their wounds suggest that they were killed fighting the Imperials. We stripped them of their padded fur boots, gloves and mail shirts.

Most thieves would just loot jewelry, gems and other things that were shiny or made of gold and silver. Those were the typical 'Magpie' thieves. A smart thief would learn to steal depending on the current situation at hand. For instance, fur boots and gloves were well sought after by the local populace to prepare them for the coming winter and blacksmiths pay double for any piece of armor as the demand for arms and armor has skyrocketed thanks to the onset of the civil war.

Katlynn pried a ring from a dead Stormcloak's finger and she showed it to me.

I crouched down to inspect the ring. It was made of gold and the engravings… Suddenly my face turned sour as if I had bitten a lemon. "Put that ring back," I told her in a scolding tone.

She didn't get it at first. But when she looked at the ring closely, she understood.

There was an unwritten rule that I follow, and that was to never steal items of sentimental value. That's what separates me from the other lowly thieves and bandits. It was a cruel thing to steal someone's memories.

That ring… it was the man's wedding ring. The engravings on the ring were all too familiar to me. A pair would be given to the husband and wife after they were married with the divine blessings of Lady Mara.

I looked at the man's corpse. He was young, in his early twenties. His eyes were staring lifelessly at the ceiling with dry blood crusted around his mouth. He died for a noble cause he believed in, that I was certain of. I closed his eyes and let his soul rest in Sovngarde, the Nordic afterlife.

There were two doorways in the room – the left one seem to lead to another section of the keep while the right one leads downstairs. We headed left first.

We were searching for arms and armor. Those things were pretty easy to sell provided if the Imperials or Stormcloaks haven't grabbed them while escaping from… whatever the hell happened here.

I _refuse_ to believe in the whole dragon story. There's probably a good explanation to all of this, but I was more focused on making the day's worth first.

We stumbled upon the barracks. I was pleased to find that the Imperial Legion had left behind some weapons and armors during their escape. We took what we could fit inside the sack. In total we found four broadswords, two heavy shields, three shortspears, two sets of Imperial light armor and one set of Imperial heavy armor.

After we were done, we headed downstairs through the right doorway. There was an eerie silence as we descended down the steps, and that's not because I was travelling with a mute partner. The corridors moaned and the ceiling made a cracking noise every so often that I thought the place was going to collapsed over our heads any time soon.

Turns out I was kinda half-right. The passageway in front of us was blocked by rubble.

Luckily there was a doorway to our left. We entered and found ourselves inside the keep's kitchen area. Strings of garlic braids and dried elves ear cuttings hung on the ceiling. The fire in the hearth had died out, only small traces of embers remained on the burned out firewood.

On one side, barrels and sacks were stacked against the wall. We searched them and found cinnamon, juniper berries, cloves, nutmeg, and salted beef and pork. I ignored the food and filled four small bags with spices. In some places, they can go as high as five hundred a pound. You just have to find the right dealer to buy them. Luckily, I know a few.

An hour later, we emerged out of the keep with smiles on our faces – yes, Kat actually smiled for once today – and half of our sacks filled. I figured we had enough merchandise to fetch us at least three thousand septims or more. And that was just from the keep alone. We still have the whole town to explore.

What a wonderful start for a day.

* * *

Well, it seems I spoken too soon.

The town was as empty as a beggar's purse.

Several hours of searching through houses had led us to find only scraps of fur, clothes and trinkets, none of it were worth anything more than ten septims. There was scarcely a building that had a basement or floor intact. Those that had were too dangerous to enter for fear that the supports wouldn't hold.

The only place left to search was the inn. The building was not as badly burned down like the others. A tree had fallen down onto the roof and into the second floor. There was a sign on the arch of the doorway which read, ' _Helgen Homestead_ '.

My face darkened upon seeing the sign.

I used to come to this place to buy a cask of Vilod's juniper berry mead. While I fancy myself with quality wine, Vilod's brew was the only thing in Skyrim that was close to the stuff made in the Colovian West. There was an old saying we Colovians use to say: _You're not a Colovian until you had a taste of ale mixed with juniper_.

I wonder if the man even made it out alive.

Leaving our horses near the entrance, we went up to the doorway and I gently knocked on the door. It came crashing down forward, sending a puff of dust up in the air.

"After you." I gestured at Katlynn to enter first with a charming grin.

She lightly punched me in the shoulder in return and entered the dilapidated inn.

The interior was a wreck. No surprise there. A portion of the second floor was still intact and the support beams looked sturdy enough to hold. We could go up there and take a look around, _if_ _only_ the stairs weren't part of the other portion that was gone.

On a shelf behind the counter, there were a few mead bottles. I took a bottle and wiped the dust off the label. It was one of Vilod's signature mead. I pulled the stopper and took a swig. The taste was just as I remembered – strong and sweet with a tinge of juniper. I should bring home a few just so I could drink it later on.

Katlynn had found a strongbox hidden under pieces of fallen debris. I helped her pull it out, creating a few loud noises in the process. Then she began the delicate process of picking the lock.

I sat back and watched her, sipping my bottle of juniper berry mead. She used a torsion wrench to apply pressure on the pins inside the lock while a pick would be used to turn the tumbler once all the pins were picked. Suddenly the torsion wrench snapped. A few seconds later, the second one snapped. And then the next one; and the one after that…

I snickered as Katlynn broke into a short silent tantrum, biting her lower lip in frustration as she reached out in her pocket for another torsion wrench. I found it cute when she does that. Like a child getting upset over a broken toy. Of course no one dared to call her cute except for me and Darius. The more proper word people liked to call her was 'mischievous little cat'.

"Try moving it a slight bit once you found the mark, Kat." I told her. "And don't turn it too much unless you're sure it goes all the way through."

She shot a disdainful look at me as if she knew what she was doing before proceeding to pick the lock all over again, this time secretly heeding my advice.

 _She's getting cocky_. I thought with concern. That was a common sign young thieves had when they get too overconfident with their skills. Arrogance leads to a quick death. I've seen many thieves – old and young – meet the hangman's noose or the dungeons because of that. A thief should always learn that no matter how experienced and well-trained they are, there's always the possibility of making mistakes. And I've learned that the hard way.

A soft _click_ marked Katlynn's success at opening the strongbox. Inside was a small pouch of coin and several gemstones.

"Nice fine, Kat. Now let's get—"

"Hey! Someone's been here!" A voice from outside shouted, startling us.

We looked outside and saw three men approaching our horses.

"Damn it, vultures." I muttered under my breath.

"Huh. I thought we would be the first ones here." One of them said, slightly disheartened by the fact. He was Nord; an archer with his wooden longbow slung across his left shoulder and a quiver full of arrows. On his belt was a dagger with spots of rust on its blade.

"That doesn't matter anymore." The voice from before replied. It belonged to an Orc. He was bare-chested and wore only a fur kilt and a cloak draped around his broad green shoulders. Strapped on his back was an old iron warhammer. "Those fools left their horses here. And it's full of loot, enough for the three of us."

"Best we just take them." A third man with a thick beard and grey hair suggested. "I bet they won't mind losing two horses." He chuckled darkly on top the brown horse he rode. Underneath his fur he wore chainmail.

They were going to steal away with our loot. I can't let that happen. We've been here for half a day and we aren't going to go back empty-handed.

"We have to draw those bandits away from our horses." I whispered to Katlynn. "But how?"

Katlynn drew a finger at her throat and swiped in a horizontal line, suggesting killing them.

" _Without_ killing them would be more preferable, Kat." That ended our brief conversation.

I was never one for killing. Normally I tried sneaking my way out or use non-lethal methods to take out guards. In Cyrodiil, there was a rule the local Thieves' Guild follow: _Never kill anyone on a job._ Of course that didn't mean a thief shouldn't learn how to fend himself with a blade. I took swordsmanship lessons at the age of twelve, in case I had to wield a blade when I was in danger. Killing was unavoidable, but I would try my best to minimize it.

"How about the old _bait-and-take_ trick?" I suggested.

Katlynn nodded in agreement and prepared a spell on her right hand. It had a subtle light-green glow to it. She fired it at the window of a building opposite of the inn and in its place was an identical replica of her.

I could never get use to her phantom image spells. She was trained in the school of Illusion since she was nine. Merlini the Mesmer had been her teacher. The Altmer illusionist-thief was a long-time member of the Guild and a close friend of me and my brother Darius (and perhaps the only Altmer I know who isn't a complete stuck-up prick). He taught Kat about how to misdirect people and manipulate their minds. To put it simply; he showed her a few magic tricks that allowed her to get away clean with her loot.

"Hey! There's someone over there!"

The two bandits on foot fell for the trap and went after Katlynn's phantom image, leaving only the horse rider for us to contend with.

I swirled my index finger and pointed at the horseman, or more specifically, his horse. Katlynn prepared another spell. This time it had a bright red glow. When she casted the spell at the horse, it went into a state of panic, whickering and kicking wildly until the rider dropped from his saddle.

That was our time to move.

We rushed out from the inn and to our horses. The rider was still struggling to get up when he saw us. He started shouting for help. "Trap! It's a trap! Boys, get back over—"

A quick smack from the butt of my crossbow shut him up for good. We mounted our horses and made a mad dash for the gates. Just as we were a few feet away, the two bandits came back. The archer was drawing his bow with the intention of shooting us down.

But I had the upper advantage. The crossbow was quicker to draw and fire compared to the longbow, and when on horseback, it _definitely_ makes a difference. I aimed my crossbow and fired a bolt, right in the archer's right foot. It wasn't enough to kill him, but it was enough to prevent him from getting a straight shot at us.

As the archer screamed, the Orc stood in front of us in an attempt to block our route. Orcs. They were second to Nords when it came to stubbornness. I would hate to run him over with my horse, mainly because the horse would suffer mild injuries upon crashing, so I signaled to Katlynn to cast a paralysis spell on him.

With a quick nod and a flick of her wrist, she blasted the light-green spell at the Orc. He froze like a puppet in his stance – holding his warhammer out with both his hands – before slowly falling.

I steered my horse right to avoid him. "Nice meeting you fellas!" I shouted at the two incapacitated bandits. "Hope we _don't_ meet again!"

We rode out of Helgen with loot in our bags and our bodies intact. Everything went just as I thought it would.

Well… almost.

 **Author's Note:**

 **The illusion spells Katlynn was using were from a new branch of Illusion spells called "Phantom Images" added by Skyrim Redone (SkyRe). There's a PDF file in the mod page for more details about it and the rest of the other spells added by the mod.**

 **Colovians are people who live in Colovia (Western Cyrodiil). To put it bluntly: they're Imperials with a bit of Nord in their culture. Anvil, Chorrol, and Skingrad are known Colovian cities. Notable Colovians include Emperor Reman I and Cuhlecain a.k.a Emperor Zero.**

 **Due to the nature of my life, there won't be a fixed schedule on when I would update this story. For those who are interested in following the progress of my story, PM me or visit Tamriel Vault.**


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